


my soul for his

by jahnabelle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossroads Deals & Demons, F/M, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jahnabelle/pseuds/jahnabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 11x09, "O Brother Where Art Thou?" Contains spoilers. </p><p>You go to desperate measures for Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my soul for his

**Author's Note:**

> again, this contains a huge spoiler for 11x09. just a heads up!

Dean tells you with a stony set to his face, eyes distant and stoic. He tells you flat out, no hesitation, the kind of blankness and brevity you expect from a hospital nurse delivering the worst. “Sam’s in the cage,” he says, not looking at you. His hands are fumbling with his cell phone, and he shifts from foot to foot. “Not sure how we’re going to get him out.” 

You want to punch him, right across the jaw, make him stumble back and spit out blood. With fists clenched, you bite your tongue and fight back tears, blinking. Sam is in the cage, living his worst nightmare. Re-living his worst nightmare. 

“I didn’t know,” Dean says, interrupting your thoughts. His voice breaks, and you look up to see that his eyes are filled with tears now, liquid and green. “I told him—I warned him—stubborn, sacrificing bastard—”

A sob escapes you and you turn and flee, running down the hallways of the bunker, footsteps echoing. You tear into your room and start looking for a book—black leather cover, yellow, bloodstained pages, dogeared and used well—and you find it, tucked away where no one could find it. You flip through pages, rip the edges near the binding in your hurry, until you find what you’re looking for. 

Dean doesn’t question you when you leave. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found. You hurry through the empty main room of the bunker, your book tucked into your knapsack with the supplies needed. As you burst through the front door and into the chilly December night air, you wipe angry tears from your eyes, walking as quickly as you can to your car. All you can think about is Sam in the cage, Sam alone, Sam being tortured, tormented—you shudder, and you start the car, the engine roaring to life.

The crossroads is just outside of town. You park by the corner, kill the engine, nearly fall out of the car in your hurry to leave it. Kneeling in the center of the crossroads, you dig with your hands. Your heart is pounding your ears like a mantra, urging you on, the drumbeat to your desperate dance. Tearing through earth, you dig a hole deep enough for a small tin box. You put the picture in—Sam’s smiling face slightly marred by a thumbprint of dirt—and you slam the cover shut. The earth falls back on the box and you stand, knees caked in black earth, and you wait.

“Darling, this is a bit outside of a crossroad demon’s pay grade.” 

You whip around, coming face to face with Crowley. He looks tired, though you’re not sure that demon vessels can look tired, but he looks ... weary. You’re trembling, you realize, and you can barely get the words out. “I can make a trade, can’t I?” you ask, voice stronger than you expect. “My soul for his?” 

Crowley smirks, infuriatingly, and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Sam Winchester is a soul that every demon has fought over for millennia,” he says. “He’s Lucifer’s true vessel. He’s the direct descendant of Cain and Abel. He’s a Winchester. I’m not quite sure that your soul matches up in value, pet.” 

You do not think of Sam as Lucifer’s true vessel. In your mind’s eye you can see Sam bent over books in the bunker, hair falling into his face, hand wrapped around a cup of coffee. The bright smile he has when he hears your footsteps, the way he puts two big hands on your waist and pulls you into his lap, innocent, the kind of intimacy that didn’t have a footnote containing monsters, Lucifer, the cage. 

“Put me in there with him,” you say. Thoughts are running wild in your mind, and you feel like you can barely focus on them. Your heart is racing, your breath is short, and your whole body aches. Everything hurts. You shut your eyes for a moment and drop your head into your hands, body shaking. He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone. “Crowley, he can’t be in there, there has to be something we can do. Anything—” 

“Not sure there is anything to do, darling.” Crowley’s face is unreadable, and he shakes his head. “Not until the Darkness is back in her Barbie dream house. Even then, it’s debatable that Lucifer will let him go, not after losing him the first time.” His face darkens, and he turns away from you. “Is there another deal I can make for you, darling? Or are we done having our evening chat?” 

You shake your head, and Crowley disappears without a sound. You sink to your knees in the gravel, and you sob, not sure that there are even tears coming out of your eyes. The moon rises, and you can feel your phone buzzing in your pocket. You ignore it. The sobs keep coming until you’re hiccupping, gasping for breath, and you sit back on your heels and tilt your face up to the moon. There are things to be done, you think, and you stand, trembling. There are things you can do. 

The phone in your pocket buzzes insistently. You reach for it, wiping away the tears as you check the caller ID. 

“Dean?” 

“You didn’t do anything stupid, did you, Y/N? Because—”

“No,” you say immediately. You clear your throat and start moving to the car. “We’re getting him out of there, Dean. One way or another. We can’t let him rot in that cage.” 

There is silence on the other end. “Yeah,” he replies, voice hoarse. “I’ve got a couple of ideas.” 

“Good,” you say, and you start the car’s engine. It roars to life, and you breathe deeply, settled. “We’ve got work to do.”


End file.
